I'm kind of dying for an AU where different characters meet Dany at Dragonstone to negotiate. Like, Arya, Sansa, Bran, Catlyn, Lyanna Mormont, Tormund f-ing Giantsbane. And every single one does a better job of it than Jon because them being held hostage had no effect on Northern Independence because they couldn't be made to bend the knee. The contrivance of that, why did they have to make Jon an idiot?
“why did they have to make Jon an idiot?” - I…I mean.. A character can be only as smart as the brains behind its creator. And as soon as the source material ran out, every single character turned into an idiot because they were written by and as an extension of the two most brainless hacks in the industry who only thought ASOIAF is about dick jokes and CGI. But here’s how I got over it, I reread the books…
So how about I reply this ask with some Jon Snow goodness from the books eh?
AGOT, Jon III: Jon Snow is that mofo who turned fighting into an artform:
Toad stepped close. “The little lordling has a mouth on him,” he said. He had pig eyes, small and shiny. “Is that your mommy’s mouth, bastard? What was she, some whore? Tell us her name. Maybe I had her a time or two.” He laughed.
Jon twisted like an eel and slammed a heel down across the instep of the boy holding him. There was a sudden cry of pain, and he was free. He flew at Toad, knocked him backward over a bench, and landed on his chest with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the packed earth.
ASOS, Jon I: Jon Snow is that mofo who infiltrated the Wildlings by perceiving and then manipulate Mance like putty:
“The wildling leader fixed him with an unfriendly stare. “Might be you fooled these others, crow, but don’t think you’ll be fooling Mance. He’ll take one look a’ you and know you’re false.”
Literally 10 pages later…
Jon took another swallow of mead. There is only one tale that he might believe. “You say you were at Winterfell, the night my father feasted King Robert.”
“I did say it, for I was.”
“Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated.”
“I remember.”
“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?”
Mance Rayder looked at Jon’s face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the King said, holding out his hand.
ASOS, Jon V: Jon Snow is that mofo who dreams of serenading his Lady:
If I could show her Winterfell … give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.
ADWD, Jon II: Jon Snow is that mofo who ensnared Janos Slynt knowing fully well Slynt will refuse and Jon will get to avenge his father:
Jon slid the oilcloth down his bastard sword, watching the play of morning light across the ripples, thinking how easily the blade would slide through skin and fat and sinew to part Slynt’s ugly head from his body. All of a man’s crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well.“Lord Janos.” Jon sheathed his sword. “I am giving you command of Greyguard.”
That took Slynt aback. “Greyguard … Greyguard was where you climbed the Wall with your wildling friends …”
Slynt’s face had turned the color of a prune. His meaty jowls began to quiver. “Do you think I cannot see what you are doing? Janos Slynt is not a man to be gulled so easily. I was charged with the defense of King’s Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes. Keep your ruin, bastard.”
“I am giving you a chance, my lord. It is more than you ever gave my father. “You mistake me, my lord,” Jon said. “That was a command, not an offer.”
… And the rest is history
ADWD, Jon III: Jon Snow is that mofo who said screw you to toxic masculinity:
Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones.
ADWD, Jon III: Jon Snow is that mofo who arranged for Mance to be shot so that he doesn’t have to die a more degrading death:
Jon Snow had seen enough. “Now,” he said.
Ulmer of the Kingswood jammed his spear into the ground, unslung his bow, and slipped a black arrow from his quiver. Sweet Donnel Hill threw back his hood to do the same. Garth Greyfeather and Bearded Ben nocked shafts, bent their bows, loosed.
One arrow took Mance Rayder in the chest, one in the gut, one in the throat. The fourth struck one of the cage’s wooden bars, and quivered for an instant before catching fire. A woman’s sobs echoed off the Wall as the wildling king slid bonelessly to the floor of his cage, wreathed in fire”. And now his Watch is done,“ Jon murmured softly.
ADWD, Jon IV: Jon Snow is that mofo who owned veteran war strategist Stannis Baratheon while advising him on how to take the North:
Honestly, I could quote this entire chapter. This is PEAK Jon Snow.
Where to begin? Jon moved to the map. Candles had been placed at its corners to keep the hide from rolling up. A finger of warm wax was puddling out across the Bay of Seals, slow as a glacier. “To reach the Dreadfort, Your Grace must travel down the kingsroad past the Last River, turn south by east and cross the Lonely Hills.” He pointed. “Those are Umber lands, where they know every tree and every rock. The kingsroad runs along their western marches for a hundred leagues. Mors will cut your host to pieces unless you meet his terms and win him to your cause.”
“Very well. Let us say I do that.”
“That will bring you to the Dreadfort,” said Jon, “but unless your host can outmarch a raven or a line of beacon fires, the castle will know of your approach. It will be an easy thing for Ramsay Bolton to cut off your retreat and leave you far from the Wall, without food or refuge, surrounded by your foes.”
“Only if he abandons his siege of Moat Cailin.”
“Moat Cailin will fall before you ever reach the Dreadfort. Once Lord Roose has joined his strength to Ramsay’s, they will have you outnumbered five to one.”
“My brother won battles at worse odds.”
“You assume Moat Cailin will fall quickly, Snow,” objected Justin Massey, “but the ironmen are doughty fighters, and I’ve heard it said that the Moat has never been taken.”
“From the south. A small garrison in Moat Cailin can play havoc with any army coming up the causeway, but the ruins are vulnerable from the north and east.” Jon turned back to Stannis. “Sire, this is a bold stroke, but the risk - ” The Night’ s Watch takes no part. Baratheon or Bolton should be the same to me. “If Roose Bolton should catch you beneath his walls with his main strength, it will be the end for all of you.”
“Risk is part of war,” declared Ser Richard Horpe, a lean knight with a ravaged face whose quilted doublet showed three death’s-head moths on a field of ash and bone. “Every battle is a gamble, Snow. The man who does nothing also takes a risk.”
“There are risks and risks, Ser Richard. This one … it is too much, too soon, too far away. I know the Dreadfort. It is a strong castle, all of stone, with thick walls and massive towers. With winter coming you will find it well provisioned. Centuries ago, House Bolton rose up against the King in the North, and Harlon Stark laid siege to the Dreadfort. It took him two years to starve them out. To have any hope of taking the castle, Your Grace would need siege engines, towers, battering rams …”
ADWD, Jon V: Jon Snow is that mofo who taught the very mysogynistic Bowen Marsh a math lesson:
The Lord Steward glanced back. “Women too? Our brothers are not accustomed to having women amongst them, my lord. Their vows … there will be fights, rapes …”
“These women have knives and know how to use them.”
“And the first time one of these spearwives slits the throat of one of our brothers, what then?”“We will have lost a man,” said Jon, “but we have just gained sixty-three. You’re good at counting, my lord. Correct me if I’m wrong, but my reckoning leaves us sixty-two ahead.”
Long story short, I will NEVER let D&D’s dumbassery ruin my love for this great character. NEVER EVER…
Thanks so much for the ask dear nonny!
